


Mistress Fraser's Wondrous Concoction

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon, F/M, Feels, Ficlet, Fluff, Lallybroch, Oneshot, missing moment, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small moment between Claire and Jamie during the year spent in Lallybroch after France (previous to the Battle of Culloden).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistress Fraser's Wondrous Concoction

**_Mistress Fraser’s Wondrous Concoction_ **

Claire sighed as she put the last batch of herbs to steep for the night, looking around to the organized chaos of her impromptu surgery. The last few days had been exhausting with a sudden surge of bronchitis ruthlessly hitting the inhabitants of Lallybroch. She had been the only one whom the disease hadn’t touched – probably due to a mixture of antibodies of the twentieth century and exemplary personal hygiene.

She had been distributing generous doses of her remedy, a concoction made of peppermint, sage and ginger with just enough alcohol to help numbing the coughing fits and opening the inflamed bronchi.

After tending to a very grumpy Jenny Murray, irascible from the disease and the forced banishment from her kitchen, Claire had made her rounds in the nearby cottages, instructing people to drink plenty of clean water and inhale some vapours near the fire with the appropriate herbs burning.

Now she was ready to tend to her last and most special patient – her very bored and impatient husband.

“How are you?” She asked upon entering their room, watching him lying in what seemed like a cocoon of bedsheets and quilts, only his red hair serving as tell-tale sign of his presence.

“I thought ye were leaving me to die.” He replied in a wheezing voice, sounding very much like a kettle going to boiling point. “I spent the day here commending my soul to God and my wife nowhere in sight.”

“Of course I wouldn’t let you die.” Claire retorted patiently, beginning to excavate the layers of clothing to find him. “Who would rub my feet if I did?”

He snorted, a moist sound of secretions and laugh combined.

“How is everyone faring?” Jamie opened one blue eye and peeked at her. “Anyone in a perilous condition?”

“Mary MacNab is not doing so well.” Claire confessed, stirring the contents of the cup she was holding for Jamie to drink once it had cooled enough. “I think she has a pneumonia. By the colour of her lips and nails I’d say her oxygen is pretty low.”

“I won’t pretend I ken what ye’re saying, but it doesna sound too good.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it in a companion way. “Is there anything more ye can do, Sassenach?”

“Not really.” She admitted bitterly. “There’s only so much my herbs can do. I’m not a real doctor and a tea is a poor replacement for antibiotics.”

“Don’t lessen yerself, _mo nighean donn_.” Jamie advised, furrowing his brows. “If not for ye I’m sure we’d have lost a lot of folks to this illness by now.”

“I’m not that good.” She said slowly, finally handing him the cup for him to drink. “I couldn’t save…” Claire stopped as her voice failed, her hand automatically going to her belly. Silence fell between them. Jamie opened both of his eyes completely and looked at her with concern and tenderness.

“I’ve seen ye naked so often and never noticed yer wings, Sassenach.” Jamie said, at last. His callused hand caressed her face. “Are ye an angel distributing death and me unaware of it? I know ye still grieve for our daughter.” His eyes searched hers. “So do I. But don’t burden yerself with things ye have nay control of.”

“I know.” Claire whispered, kissing his knuckles. Her hand softened the red waves of his hair, perspired from the disease and glued to his skin. “But I’m afraid I can’t do enough. And if someone is truly sick, Jamie…”

Jamie placed his fingers on her mouth, preventing her to go on. He settled the cup on the nightstand and pulled her to him, their bodies coming in full contact - the way they were always the most sincere with each other, all barriers of individuality and propriety dissolved.

“Ye have to find it again, _mo graidh_.” He breathed against the curve of her beck, near her ear. “ _Creideamh_.” His fingers entwined with hers. “Faith.”

“Will you help me?” Claire asked, brushing her lips against his stubble. “I don’t think I can do it by myself. Not this time.”

“Aye.” He gripped her against him. “As long as I stop coughing. I was afraid I’d spit a lung earlier.”

“Men.” She snorted. “Always ruining a perfectly delightful moment with conversations of guts and gore.”

“Hmmm.” Jamie coughed a little and the answer was delayed, leaving him slightly panting. “Ye of all people are familiar with those things. Shall I remind ye of the lovely times I had to eat my morning parritch while ye described me the bowel movements of old widow McDonald? Or my bannocks accompanied with the tale of Mister Jones’ foot maggots?”

“They were quite splendid.” Claire laughed. “Such lively creatures.”

Jamie gave her a sideways glance.

“This concoction of yers is no Rhenish wine to be sure, Sassenach. Spicy as the hounds of hell and such a sour tang to it.” He peeked at the empty cup. “But it does open yer chest to the air. I can breathe much easier now.”

“I’m glad.” Claire got up and started to strip off her dress, patiently undoing her laces. That Jamie was not looking at her with that usual glint in his eyes, at the sight of the shedding of her clothes, was a testament of his poor health condition.

“Will ye tell me a story tonight?” He asked, covering himself to his jaw. He looked like a nestled owl and made Claire smile. “I’m nay capable to do anything else. Canna even serve ye in a suitable way. But I slept most of the day and could use some conversation.”

“Alright.” She agreed, sliding next to him in bed wearing only her shift and instantly feeling the phenomenal heat coming from him, like her own personal furnace. “What do ye want to hear me talk about? Is it planes again? Or maybe the pyramids of Egypt? Or the one when I fall off the camel’s back?”

“Hmmm.” Jamie turned to his side to face her and scooted to get closer, nestling her in his arms. “Can ye tell me again about the German man with the ridiculous moustache?”

“I could.” She softly moaned as Jamie’s hands roamed across her body, pressing and stroking, releasing the tension of the arduous day. “Are you sure you can’t…hmmmmm?”

He gave her a throaty laugh that awakened another coughing fit.

“I canna.” Jamie said at last with a look of utter regret. “Maybe tomorrow if I drink a larger dose of that terrible drink of yers. But I canna really stop myself from wanting it. There is just something about yer body that awakens something in my own. When ye’re near I come alive without even trying. I live and breathe so long as ye’re here to be the breath of me.”

Claire kissed his lips, tasting the echo of ginger and mint.

“That is the third law of Newton, I believe.” Her foot searched his calf. “The mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal and directed to contrary parts.”

“That, _mo nighean donn_ , is lust.” Jamie smoothed her curly hair. “I do love ye so, Claire.”

She fought the knot that stubbornly was forming in her throat, upon hearing the honesty of his touch and words, and kissed him. Told him with her body the whole truth which words always seemed to fail to express. The loss she still battled to endure. The love that kept her going. The fear of losing again. And the faith she found in every moment shared together – united, healed, invincible.

Later that night, still locked in Jamie’s arms, she heard him whisper in a husky tone. “I’m yet to find an ailment ye canna cure me of, Blood of my Blood.”


End file.
